He held out his hand to Uncle Ben. “Let me congratulate you,” he said heartily, “and forgive me if your story really sounded so wonderful I couldn't quite grasp it. Now let me ask you something more. Have you had any reason for keeping this a secret, other than your fear of confessing that you violated a few bigoted and idiotic mining rules--which, after all, are binding only upon sentiment--and which your success has proved to be utterly impractical?”
“There WAS another reason, Mr. Ford,” said Uncle Ben, wiping away an embarrassed smile with the back of his hand, “that is, to be square with you, WHY I thought of consultin' you. I didn't keer to have McKinstry, and”--he added hurriedly, “in course Harrison, too, know that I bought up the title to thur boundary.”
“I understand,” nodded the master. “I shouldn't think you would.”
“Why shouldn't ye?” asked Uncle Ben quickly.
“Well--I don't suppose you care to quarrel with two passionate men.”
Uncle Ben's face changed. Presently, however, with his hand to his face, he managed to manipulate another smile, only it appeared for the purpose of being as awkwardly wiped away.
“Well, one if you like,” returned the master cheerfully. “But for the matter of that, why any? Come--do you mind telling me why you bought the land at all? You know it's of little value to any but McKinstry and Harrison.”
“Soppose,” said Uncle Ben slowly, with a great affectation of wiping his ink-spotted desk with his sleeve, “soppose that I had got kinder tired of seein' McKinstry and Harrison allus fightin' and scrimmagin' over their boundary line. Soppose I kalkilated that it warn't the sort o' thing to induce folks to settle here. Soppose I reckoned that by gettin' the real title in my hands I'd have the deadwood on both o' them, and settle the thing my own way, eh?”
“That certainly was a very laudable intention,” returned Mr. Ford, observing Uncle Ben curiously, “and from what you said just now about one passionate man, I suppose you have determined already WHO to favor. I hope your public spirit will be appreciated by Indian Spring at least--if it isn't by those two men.”
“You lay low and keep dark and you'll see,” returned his companion with a hopefulness of speech which his somewhat anxious eagerness however did not quite bear out. “But you're not goin' yet, surely,” he added, as the master again absently consulted his watch. “It's on'y half past four. It's true thar ain't any more to tell,” he added simply, “but I had an idea that you might hev took to this yer little story of mine more than you 'pear to be, and might be askin' questions and kinder bedevlin' me with jokes ez to what I was goin' to do--and all that. But p'raps it don't seem so wonderful to you arter all. Come to think of it--squarely now,” he said, with a singular despondency, “I'm rather sick of it myself--eh?”